


Fragmented

by evilRevan



Series: Wicked Games & Wicked Hearts [1]
Category: Tyranny (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, F/M, Hunter background Fatebinder, Post Tyranny game, Torture, Trauma, loss of limb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 04:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11661630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilRevan/pseuds/evilRevan
Summary: Weaving between darkness and eddies of light, Reyvanna struggles to remain alive after the injuries and trauma sustained after being held captive by Kyros after failing to defeat her on the battlefield. On her own with nothing to protect her, she spends two spans at the mercy of Kyros's machinations and those of her minions. Even when she's found and kept safe within the court, Reyvanna's injuries and those of the mind lash out against anyone who attempts to help her. Even the one she loves...





	Fragmented

****Light and darkness flickered in and out of existence, sweat trickling over her brows as her consciousness flowed between the two. Fragmented blurry images of her companions huddled around, garbled words which sounded like Ebb and Lantry; faded with the dizzying sensations of unimaginable tendrils of pain coursing through her entire body, and the odd cooling sensation scouring the burning feverish hell washing over every inch of skin imaginable. Everything else came and went far too fast for her battered and bruised mind to process. From there time was nigh on impossible to discern.

One second Reyvanna saw pinpricks of light shattering through the darkness, and then, a sea of consuming blackness swallowing up the faint rays of light. In the pitch black sea her consciousness ebbed and flowed like waves on the shore. 

Memories of being held against her will within Kyros’ domain plagued her. Thin razor sharp needles plunged through shallow, bloody tissue, vile bubbling liquid of swirling colors draining at a snail’s pace into her bloodstream as Reyvanna was forced to watch mutely, gagged and chained to the rough stone walls of her cell with not even an inch of room between her back and the skin-scrapping brickwork. Cruel warped words flowed from red tinted lips followed bouts of pain, rusted chains rattling as her body convulsed and reacted to the intensity torture. The bitter tang of copper flooded what little senses rose to the surface, floating atop the shifting mass of shadows and death, the edges tinged with the sweetness of color slithering through. 

Blurred images of figures crowded around her, her eyes finally picking out details in her broken state of being. Sound eluded her. A faint ringing in her ears drowning out any hope of deciphering if she was still within the clutches of Kyros’ minions or safe in the Court’s halls. Reyvanna didn’t hope for the latter. Choosing to succumb to the former in an effort to prevent Kyros from wrestling more out of her broken body.

_Strong and defiant. Unbreakable and resolute._

A mantra she recited over and over in her head as her body endured starvation, chunks of flesh torn from her body, broken bones, bruised skin, and….

Darkness crept into the light once more, devouring all color and life rendering her in a state of floating… of never-ending pain mixed with horrors, she’d rather forget.

Beneath a wall of nothing, Reyvanna could hear the splattering of blood hitting the ground. A pool of crimson flickered behind her eyes- scarred broken legs dangling just above the pool. Limp and unresponsive. 

Blood-curdling screams filled the emptiness of perpetual silence. Warped and hollow they ceased to die off, the sharp earth shattering shrill tone ringing within her skull like a migraine, rocking the world as chasms split her skull asunder. Fire swept the back of her throat. A scratching dryness overtaking her senses as the screams continued. Reyvanna wasn’t sure if they were hers. 

Swallowing back the urge to cry out in pain as the fire began melting the worn parched tissue inside her throat, she remained strong. For two months they didn’t break her. Merely skin and bones shattered and bled. Her mind? It stayed intact. For as long as she could bear the pain. They wouldn’t be the ones to break her. To hear her screams of agony. To witness her beg and plead for the pain to cease, to savor the feeling of flesh and bone mending instead of running red with fresh blood and splintered bones breaking through the skin.

At the edge of the abyss, Reyvanna felt things prod and poke at her bruised and aching flesh. Unlike previous, instances, they didn’t maim her body. They were gentle and brief. A reprieve from the swirling vortex of blood, screams, and unending memories laced with the sweetness of death. She was blind and deaf to the real world for the longest time. Even the briefest glimpse of color was pried from her vision, darkness encapsulating all of what linked her to the outside world. It was maddening. Terrifying. But she endured. Letting the frigid blanket of darkness wash over dark, slick, and inflamed skin. 

A jumble of voices cowed withing her skull. Joining the chorus of unidentifiable cries of pain and anguish. Some voices were soft. Reyvanna strained to hear them above the din of fury and vulgarity lacing the more vocal voices in her head. 

_“She still alive?”_

The choir of voices began to dwindle until only a few were left. Quiet and patient. Heinous and vile. 

_“She’s still breathing. Lost her wrist and still alive. How far you think the Savage can go until she loses her mind?”_

_“We’ll find out when the bitch wakes up. Still got the rest of her left arm attached. Need to remedy that.”_

As their voices faded into the cold abyss Reyvanna felt the hellish pain of someone slamming her wrist against the cold stone. Nails digging into her oaken tinged skin until thin rivets of blood came trickling down from the tears in the skin. Sharp teeth clenched the wad of foul smelling fabric shoved inside her mouth- mentally preparing for what was to come.

In the dimly lit prison, there was a glint of metal, a jagged rusted blade drawn in plain sight. The wielder pressed the dull blade just below the wrist, the blade sinking into the flesh at an agonizing pace. With the edge dull it took more effort to saw through flesh and bone purposely letting the sharp unimaginable searing pain ricochet throughout her entire body for as long as possible. Bloodied fingers curled up against her pain in sheer torment, shaking and tearing into the skin like the blade still sawing away at part of her body. Quickly she lost the ability to feel… anything. Even her fingers. Bloodloss mixed with shock and the horrid sight of flesh and bone splattering against the ground below drew her into the darkness.

There the pain stopped. For a time. When she awoke it was to the stinging of a metal gauntlet crashing against the side of her face, a woman and a man shouting at her to wake up. From the wrist, they moved to her elbow. Sawing off anything below the joint as they had with her wrist. She blacked out then too. The shock proving too much for anyone to handle. Least of all herself. When they slapped her awake again they sawed halfway up her arm…

_“How shall I make you suffer in the sweetest way? Mangle your body until even he can’t recognize you? Tear out every single cursed tooth in your rebellious mouth? Sever your tongue so you can’t speak again? Perhaps all three?”_

_”It seems only fair I break **his toy** , as **you** **broke mine**.” _

Nails raked across the underside of Reyvanna’s chin, a chill running along her spine as the voice continued to speak. Sweetly whispering in her ear of things to come…. of what would happen to her and Tunon.

_“You are a false empress. A festering blight on all of Terratus in need of removal- diced and burned until there is nothing left to infect my world.”_

_“I wonder just how much he can feel after centuries of being devoid of humanity. Will he crumble when I present your shattered body to him, barely breathing as you struggle to cling to life for a few more precious minutes you can squeeze out?_

_Would the puppet try and strike me? Will he submit? Or will he simply crack under what he can’t comprehend?”_

_“I guess we’ll find out together, **false empress**.”_

Everything came rushing in like a dam bursting at the seams. Colors chased away the darkness- lungs heaving as fresh air filled them, inflating the organs to their fullest inside her chest. Breathing hurt. It was like a fire licked the insides of her throat, burning away the flesh as she struggled to control her own breathing.

Wildly wide eyes flickered side to side, up and down, and diagonally. Bright colors such as gold and red were muted in the dim light- a sole candle lit beside where she lay.

Then the pain came crashing. Everything ached. Everything itched. Some places Reyvanna couldn’t even feel in the midst of scathing pain scouring her body. Faint hints of blood remained on her tongue. Old blood. But there none the less. Slowly scents wafted in her nostrils. Pungent herbs and blood mixing in the air like a bad dream. It smelled different than when she’d wake. Blood, the metallic scent of iron, rotting flesh, and feces frequently greeted her senses.

Here it smelled clean. Fresher. 

Despite the hints of color bleeding into her eyes, painting a dark blurry image of objects such as chairs, bookshelves, and a single nightstand; there was little evidence to suggest she was free. Focusing on steadying her breathing Reyvanna felt something wrong with her chest. As if something had wrapped itself around the skin- compressing and soaking up beads of sweat tinged with the faint scent of blood. Half lidded eyes flicked to her torso spying a swath of white bandages dyed a multitude of colors ranging from crimson to a ghastly yellow-green color. The latter could be anything. An herbal poultice. A vile festering infection stewing in and around open wounds yet untreated.

Mentally preparing for the onslaught of pain Reyvanna tried to rise from the bed; creaks and groans echoed inside the eerily quiet room as the bed vocally protested against the shifting weight placed upon it.

Horrid pain shot up her spine. Flames of heat and what felt like being stabbed over and over again throughout her body, cascaded rapidly over her earthen skin, seeping deep into her very being until her very insides screamed from what felt like a thousand daggers stabbing into her abdomen repeatedly. She could barely breathe as her breath came out in ragged, hurried gasps.

Everything hurt. From the skin on her scalp all the way down to her toes- everything screamed out in bloody murder.

Above the chorus of blood, sweat, and physical strain something creaked. Something which wasn’t the bed’s doing.

Warily Reyvanna mentally kept track of what sounded like footsteps growing closer, the source of the noise emanating from whatever creaked and groaned from the corner of the room.

One. Two. Three. Fou- 

The noises grew closer with each beat of her heart. On principle, Reyvanna refused to look towards the source of the noise. Instead, every muscle, whether it screamed or burst into flames, tensed. The pain was expected after two months of torture. The instinct to survive and bear the brunt of Kyros’ insidious machinations blocked most of the pain. It manifested when she was held captive by the Disfavored and it continued to hold fast even now. 

Breaking apart was never an option. No matter what Kyros threw at her. 

“You.. are awake.” Reyvanna froze in place, her dim eyes wide with shock and skepticism. Part of her yearned to turn her head to the left, to solidify the notion  _he_ was here, with _her,_ and not something fabricated by Kyros' hooked talons. Something curled up within her throat, a lump filled with hope and joy. Reyanna swallowed it. Buried the feelings deep within as it left a swath of molten metal and ash trickling alongside the discomfort inhibiting her will to answer. 

Reason whispered she was fine.  _Safe_.  _Survival_  dictated she should be wary of everything. That this place  _wasn’t safe_. The two side warred inside the confines of her skull. Both providing valid arguments as the footsteps grew louder. 

“Empress?” Tunon’s baritone voice bounced off the walls, concern leaking from the singular word.

If this was some magical spell conjured by Kyros’ hand, she at least got his voice right. The way his emotions slid into his words ever so slightly. Teetering between propriety and casual speech when it came to her. 

The young archon didn’t respond. Listly listing to the sounds emanating all around her instead. She needed to know if this _real._  To know her heart wouldn’t fall to pieces if the spark of hope roared like a wildfire only to have it extinguished within the palm of Kyros’ metal palm. 

The sound of fabric rustling and the floorboards creaking drew her eye- a blur of black and red settled by her bedside- a white mask and a pair of familiar glowing gray eyes stared straight at her. Their stormy color made it impossible to know what the man behind the mask felt, kneeling next to her, a single gloved hand clenched around his gilded staff. Even in her weakness, she could see the rough chafing strands of fiber used to create Tunon's Robes. It was unyielding and unpleasant. He wore them to remind himself of his position. Of the struggle.

_He didn’t deserve comfort._

Cut lips bruised black and blue pressed together. Words crawling from the depths of her stomach, where the lump resided, to the very tip of her tongue. The desire to reach out, to touch him grew stronger with him so near. But she hesitated.

Fear plagued her mind. The image of smoke slipping through her hands as she reached out to him, to touch his mask left her reeling.

_This couldn’t be real._

The glove wrapped around his gavel, his staff, strained the material as he tightened his hold on it. As if fighting something unseen. “Reyvanna.” Tunon never shortened her name like others did, rarely used it even in private, only letting it slip when things grew serious. Like when she ordered him to stay as she headed off to fight Kyros…

Gray eyes shifted. Swirling in the eye sockets as they churned like the winds in a hurricane. So many things flashed within. A dizzying madness of emotions her brain couldn’t process. 

All at once Reyvanna could feel her desire to defend herself rise. Anger bubbling to the surface like the foam building on the ocean’s churning waves in a storm. Anger numbed the pain. Kept her sane. Kept her alive.

Sharpened teeth flashed behind the torment; lashing out to protect herself from being mentally ruined. “No! You are not real!” She hissed like some kind of wild animal. Her voice rising as allowed denial to run ramped. Fury swept across her sickly ashen skin, drowning out the smell of herbs and blood mingling together. Faint scents of Ceder and pine crept into the world. But she ignored it.

“Rey-” 

She cut him off before he could continue. “Quiet! I don’t want to hear anymore! I will not play your games, Kyros!” Like a cornered animal Reyvanna attempted to move from him, to flee from the bed but found herself unable. Sharp pains and the scent of iron-infused blood rendered her unable to move. This time anger didn’t save her. Merely covered up the wounds with a temporary bandage until something better could tend to them. 

Teeth dug into the flesh of her bottom lip. Something hot graced her lips. Something red. Her blood. Two months. Two agonizing months she suffered in silence. Endured the pain inflicted as if she deserved it. Never made a sound. Never gave them the satisfaction,

And now? Warmth flowed from the corners of her weary eyes. Tears. _Pain. Anguish. Sorrow._

Haggard eyes refused to look at what she considered a false image. An illusion meant to shatter her to her core. “Haven’t you had your fill yet?” Reyvanna whispered quietly, almost to the point she couldn’t even hear her own words. Yet he had. Tunon heard the way her voice trembled and cracked as if unable to bear stress any longer. Like a statue left to the elements, she was finally crumbling.

For a moment everything was quiet. Like the calm before a storm. Only, in this case, there was no storm bearing down upon her, no wildfire ready to consume all life in its path… only  _peace_. 

Warmth touched the side of her face, gently passing over carefully placed bandages to protect and hide wounds still left open. With no strength left Reyvanna submitted as the warmth ghosted further down her face. The warmth rested upon her chin, slowly willing it to turn, along with her entire head, towards the figure still kneeling beside her still dressed in red, black, and gold. 

The first time her eyes fell upon him the mask was fixed to his face. The hood draped over the edges of the mask to conceal what laid around. No skin was shown. No discernable evidence to claim the man behind the mask was a living, breathing, human being capable of thought and feeling.

The second time there was no shield of white. The mask rested on the bed, the hood lowered and pooling around the back of his neck. Sharp narrow gray eyes stared back at her- weary and bone tired as she felt now. His high cheekbones cast shadows on his face as the singularly lit candle danced in her room. All of a sudden he didn’t look like he was in his forties. Here he looked as if he had lived centuries in strife, in war, in hell. His lips were pressed into a tight line. His entire face strained as pieces of his long dark brown hair fell over his eyes. Tunon didn’t brush them away. All he did was look at her.

It took only a moment to realize the warmth she felt upon her chin was his hand, the glove tossed aside in favor of allowing him to feel her as she wished to do to him. 

His pale skin contrasted with her dark reddish brown skin, the color of the redwood trees she used to climb when she was younger. The difference never bothered her. Never mattered.

Right here and right now, she couldn’t have been happier to see it. To feel his hand on her. To know this wasn’t some figment of her imagination or Kyros’ doing.

What was once held behind a dam burst open in a torrent of water. Unfiltered, raw, and uncontrollable. 

Tiny streams of tears became like rivers down her face. Tiny pitiful sobs erupted from within her battered body, lips mouthing ‘how’ and ‘why’ like a mantra. As if she  _still_ couldn’t  _believe it._

His pale fingers moved from under her chin, drifting upwards towards the streams of water cascading down her cheeks, wiping away some of the fluid with his thumb or forefinger. A small comforting gesture to soothe her where words weren’t something easily produced. 

Tired and drained Reyvanna willed herself to try and reach out to him. Her left side didn’t respond. Didn’t feel anything move when she tried. It was as if nothing was there. Confused flickered across her features, breaking apart the mixture of joy, despair, abandonment, anguish, hope, and anger eating her away from the inside. 

Only a glimpse was needed to break it. To wipe it clean and replace it with the memory of excruciating pain as the saw bit into her skin- shredding through flesh and bone at a snail’s pace in an attempt to ensure the procedure was as hellish as humanly possible.

What was once her left arm was a pathetic excuse of a stump. The end bound in bandages and foul smelling herbs and salves to fight off infection. There was no elbow to speak of. None of the intricate patterns and shapes drawn in from her upper arm in green ink and fading to black just at the elbow as it swirled and curved towards the tops of her hands. They were to mourn her tribe. To honor their memory. Now, there was nothing. Just ruined flesh. 

His hand pushed her face from the sight. Brought her attention to back to him as his features displayed something of remorse. Guilt. “There was more to it than what you see before you. It was heavily infected. The skin diseased and falling apart. If left it was bound to poison you…” Tunon’s voice was softer, kinder. Spoken in hushed tones as if trying to spare her the details of the unspoken. She used to have something there. But now…. nothing. With the loss of her left arm, she would no longer be able to use a bow, see the parts of her past etched on her skin in harmony, or to live out her days as she normally could.

Another thing Kyros took from her.

“How?” She questioned, not referring to her arm. Tunon regarded her for a moment, his expressions mixed. Reyvanna couldn’t decipher them even with his mask no longer hiding him from her. The ancient Archon considered the best way to respond. Parsing words together without breaking down himself.

“What do you remember?” His prodded carefully, cautiously. It almost sounded as if he was unsure. “Not… much,” Reyvanna confessed meekly, flashes and voices screaming in her head of events long past echoed in the silence which followed. In them, she saw him kneeling in the grass. His head bowed and his gavel firmly planted in the dirt submissively. Something cold and hard was clamped around her neck and her mouth stuffed with something repulsive. Blood and screams came after. 

A warped body of red fabric and metal laid in a pool of reddish-black blood.  _Kyros_.

Swollen eyes widened in astonishment and shock. Slowly they shifted to match the look of terror mixed with fury glossing over her features. “Tunon you-.” She began, struggling to process the sudden rush of sensory, auditory, and visual overload washing over her. 

“I told you to  _ **stay**_.”

The Adjudicator’s face hardened. Resembling the mask of Judgement as if it were molded from his face alone. “I did as you ordered,  _Empress_.” There was an icy tinge to his words. His voice resembling that of the court as he pronounced those who sought him out as innocent or guilty. Power leaked within, carried it through the spacious audience hall, through the doors of the court, and out into the streets. 

And just as it came- the edges began to soften. “You  _died_ , Reyvanna.  _Thrice_.” Suddenly the young archon couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Four words. Four words uttered from his lips, his voice cracking and crumbling to dust as they came tumbling out shattered her. 

His hand upon her face trembled lightly. “Your heart stopped the moment you entered the court after the confrontation with Kyros. You suffered massive blood loss, several broken bones, lacerations, your left arm cut off, and a raging infection coursing through your bloodstream.” Again his facial features shifted into something else, something foreign to her as Tunon struggled with emotions he hadn’t had to deal with in the past. And thanks to her, his control was being tested. 

A fire lit up in his eyes, faint but growing stronger as the seconds ticked by. “The Sage suggested something. The use lightening to restart your heart. It worked. For a time. Over the past three weeks, you died three times.” Her head spun. 

But it didn’t end there. Tunon continued to speak, battling with his emotions as he tried to remain composed- and failing. “You-” His hand fell from her face as he tried to place his staff against a nearby wall. Reyvanna understood what he was trying to do. Ground himself.

With her left arm nothing but a stump, she reached out to him- pushing her body to it’s limits as she sat up to touch his face with her right hand. With him being so tall, even kneeling down, it proved difficult. There were mild protests on his behalf. Every single one of them quickly silenced when her dull sickly hand caressed his face allowing her fingers to wander over his angular jaw, up over his cheekbones, and then sliding back down to the right side of his face. There it rested, soaking in the warmth and feel of his skin against her’s. With her fingers so badly injured, his skin felt soft in comparison. And she savored it. Drowned in it.

Later they would need to talk. When she was feeling better… when her wounds healed and she could walk on her own. But now she wanted to comfort him. For she wasn’t the only one wounded by the turn of events. Watching her die several times…. _unable_ to do _anything_. 

A simple tug was all that was needed to bring him closer to her, leaning over her bed as she beckoned him closer with the barest hint of pressure from her fingertips. His height proved to be slight obstacle as Reyvanna weakly tried to sit up straighter, to reach his face looming so close to her own. For once Tunon didn't torment her by moving away, as he was want to do when he realized her intentions before she could act on them, and inched closer to her to ease the stress of her body. Reyvanna didn't hesitate despite the nagging voice in the back of her mind warning her of re-opening wounds, she merely pressed her lips onto his. The familiar warmth and peace of mind almost made her cry. Her isolation left her starved, desperate to touch him. To hear him. To see him. Reyvanna simply couldn't sever the consuming need to greedily fulfill a need none but he could fill. Tunon didn’t question it.

If nothing else he sought it out as eagerly as she did. Two months apart. Two months of hell on both sides. They both needed confirmation this was  _real._  

What would happen afterwards they would sort out together. After she recovered, and no sooner than that. For now everything logical and rational was smothered by the desire to ensure they both breathed the same air as one another. 

The first to pull away is he. Her mouth not even and inch from his as she stares as him warmly, “I am not going anywhere, my _Imperator_.” This was a promise she intended to keep this time. Gray eyes continued to gaze at her, conflicted yet softer. Instead of replying he initiated the kiss, his ungloved hand running through her damp, unruly, and curly dark brown hair. 


End file.
